


five times billy leaves (and one time he stays)

by gothyringwald



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 5 Times, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13195860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: There is nothing more that Billy would rather do than share a coke with Steve Harrington, except, maybe, to kiss him. But he can't do either.(Basically: what it says in the title)





	five times billy leaves (and one time he stays)

**Author's Note:**

> Still trying to find my footing with these two and I figured a 5+1 might be a good way to do that. Plus, I just love the format
> 
> Also thanks for all the kudos and kind comments on my other (first & previously only) fic for these two! I was kinda blown away. :)

'Harrington!'

Billy takes one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the asphalt and crushing it beneath the heel of his boot. He crosses the arcade parking lot, thumbs hooked in his pockets, to where Steve is leaning against his car. He's got his arms crossed, and sunglasses on, blocking out the sun and Billy's gaze.

Steve flinches when Billy sidles up to him and slaps a hand on the car window, palm stinging at the impact. It's heady, seeing Steve flinch away, knowing that he can elicit a reaction from him. Billy hasn't laid a hand on Steve since that night in November—not outside what he can get away with in basketball practice, anyway—and it makes his skin feel tight in a way he doesn't want to look at too closely. But this, well, this eases that feeling, just a little.

Another car pulls up, eager kids spilling out, their father calling after them, 'I'll be back in two hours,' before he pulls away, again. The electronic music of the arcade machines filters out of the door as the kids barge in, and then it's muted, once more, when the door slams shut behind them.

Steve stays silent, staring resolutely ahead. His foot taps a nervous, uneven rhythm and his breathing is a little too heavy. Billy leans against the BMW, crosses one ankle over the other. He resists the urge to shift his weight, or bite his nails. The silence is uncomfortable, and it is only sensing that Steve feels it, too, that makes Billy keep his mouth shut. He may have had a purpose in coming over here, but getting under Harrington's skin, seeing him agitated, is too sweet to give up, just yet.

Finally, Steve huffs and says, 'What do you want, Hargrove?'

There's not as much bite in it as Billy had expected and disappointment settles in his stomach. He can see, now, that Steve looks tired, weighed down by a load Billy is sure he'll never know about (and he ignores how that rankles). Something in the set of his mouth, his shoulders, both pulling down, has Billy blurting, 'I'm sorry.'

Steve's brows raise behind his glasses. 'OK, but what do you want?'

Billy flushes. He hates that Steve can unsettle him so easily. He takes a deep breath, nostrils flared. 'To say sorry.'

Steve takes his sunglasses off, folding them neatly, hooking one arm in the neck of his green sweatshirt. 'For _what_ , in particular?'

Billy's fingers curl into his palms, short nails digging in, a steadying sharpness. His gaze drifts down to the ground, and then he looks back up, brow furrowed. 

'For beating you up,' he says between gritted teeth.

Steve crosses his arms, again, presses his lips together. His gaze flicks to Billy, trails down the length of his body, leaving heat in its wake, before he looks out across the parking lot. A muscle ticks in his jaw, belying his nonchalance.

'OK,' is all he says after a full minute of silence.

The anger that has been simmering in Billy's veins bubbles, now, threatening to boil over. He tamps it down. 

'OK,' he repeats, voice low. He's not sure what else he was expecting from Steve. That he'd accept the apology with enthusiasm, want to be Billy's best buddy, now? He's lucky Steve hasn't told him to fuck off, and he knows it. Part of him wishes Steve had, wants to see Steve fired up, again, even if only for a moment.

'Look, man, I...' Billy shakes his head. He takes out a cigarette, lights it with a shaking hand that he hopes Steve doesn't notice. He thinks about blowing the smoke in Steve's face but stops himself at the last moment. He can play it cool, too. 'Whatever.'

He stalks away when Steve stays silent but when he’s halfway across the lot, Steve calls out, 'See you on the court, Hargrove.'

Billy pauses and looks back. Steve's expression is unreadable but it cuts through Billy. He swallows, thickly. 'Uh, yeah, see you there,' he says, then goes to his Camaro to finish his cigarette while he waits for Max.

__

'Man, I am going to kick your ass.' Billy nudges Steve out of the way when the ball goes down the drain. No bonus round. He slides a quarter into the slot, then rubs his hands together, blowing on them for show.

Steve laughs. 'Sure thing, Mr Pinball Wizard,' he says with a flourish of his hand. He rests his elbows on the edge of the machine, face cupped in his hands, illuminated by the lights of the play field. Billy is momentarily distracted by the way the colours reflect in his dark, wide eyes, which sparkle with an inner light of their own, much brighter than the pinball machine. Billy's face warms, but then the ball drops into place and he forgets about Steve's eyes as he pulls the plunger and the ball shoots into motion.

He nudges the machine to manipulate the ball, careful not to trigger the tilt sensors, flippers click-clacking as he catches the ball in them, before he sends it careening again with another emphatic whack of the button on the side of the machine. It whizzes around the play field—buzz, clank, whir—bouncing off the bumpers, hitting the drop targets, all the while lights flash and sound effects hum dramatically.

It's a spectacular show of pinball prowess, if he doesn't say so himself. He glances at Steve, who looks suitably impressed as he watches the ball fly under Billy's guidance. Pride flutters in Billy's stomach, and it spurs him on.

In the end, he does, in fact, kick Steve's ass.

'Ouch,' says Steve, looking up at Billy's score, blinking back at them from the back box. It's miles ahead of his own. He fixes a searching look on Billy. 'How'd you get so good at pinball? Aren't you too _cool_ for it?'

'Aren't you?' Billy shoots back, but there's no real heat in his voice. He leans back, hands braced on the chrome edging, as Steve rounds the machine to stand next to him.

The corner of the diner where the lone, outdated pinball machine sits is quiet, empty except for the two boys. Billy had spotted the machine after they had eaten, and challenged Steve to a game. Steve had been surprised, but accepted the challenge eagerly, boasting about his pinball skills. He'd never stood a chance.

'Well?' Steve prompts, arms folded, ankles crossed.

'Well what?'

Steve nudges Billy with his shoulder. 'How'd you get so good at pinball?'

Billy shrugs. He fits a wicked smile on his face and leans in close. 'Just natural talent, man.'

Steve rolls his eyes. 'Right.' He nods toward the counter and says, 'Want a soda?'

There is nothing more that Billy would rather do than share a coke with Steve Harrington, except, maybe, to kiss him. But he can't do either. 'Can't. Gotta pick up Max. Maybe next time.'

'Yeah,' says Steve and follows Billy outside, stopping by his BMW. 

They stare at each other for a minute, something between them Billy doesn't want to define. He thinks if Steve were a girl, he would go in for a kiss, right now, at the very least. But Steve isn't a girl, and Billy is pretty sure he's not like the boys he knew in Cali, and they're in a greasy spoon parking lot in Hawkins fucking Indiana. So, Billy presses his lips together, instead of against Steve's, and sinks his hands into his pockets.

A cool breeze ruffles Billy's hair, blows into his open shirt. He steps a little closer to Steve. The silence between them draws out, almost unbearable. It starts to prickle along Billy's skin so he just nods at Steve and walks off toward his car.

Steve calls out, 'Bye,' sounding amused. Billy lifts his hand in a half wave without turning around and wishes he could've stayed.

__

The last month has been building to this moment, Billy is certain of it. All of the lingering touches, the loaded glances, have all led here. He and Steve are hanging out by the quarry, a six pack of beer sitting between them. The sun drifts down into the horizon and a hint of warmth hangs in the air.

Billy gulps the dregs of his beer down, then throws the bottle, relishing the way it smashes against the rocks. He loves the sound of breaking glass.

Billy brings one knee up, resting his arm over it, his other leg dangling off the hood of Steve's BMW. He looks sidelong at Steve, who is lying beside him, eyes closed, hands folded on his stomach. The candied hues of sunset wash over him, painting his skin with a warm glow.

He looks soft and relaxed—doesn't even flinch at the sound of the bottle breaking—his secret worries not burdening him, this evening. Billy likes seeing Steve like this, just as much as he likes seeing Steve fired up. Likes that Steve lets his guard down around him, now, even if there are still things he may never tell Billy. Everyone has their secrets, he thinks, gaze trailing along Steve's face, the line of his neck disappearing into his green sweatshirt, down to his slim thighs in tight denim. 

Steve cracks open first one eye, then the other, raising his brows at Billy who flushes and looks away.

A soft-rock song filters out of the open car window. It's too easy, too smooth, for Billy's usual tastes but Steve had said, 'my car, my tunes,' with a wink, cranking the volume. He was only teasing, echoing Billy's own (completely serious) rule and Billy knows Steve would have let him change it if he'd asked. He hadn't.

Billy clears his throat, is certain he can _feel_ Steve's gaze on the side of his neck. 'Want another beer?' He reaches for a bottle but Steve stops him, fingers curled around his wrist. They're a little clammy on Billy's skin, send electric shocks sparking through his veins.

'Not really,' Steve says, sitting up. He lets his fingers slide from Billy's wrist and rests his weight on one hand, leaning into Billy's space. Heat rolls off of him, palpable, but Billy shivers.

Steve shifts, leans in further, gaze firm on Billy's mouth. Billy licks his lips. Before Billy can register the significance on more than a primal level, Steve is surging forward, pressing their lips together. Billy doesn't hesitate in kissing back.

He turns so he's facing Steve, one leg tucked under himself, placing a hand on Steve's waist. Steve rests a hand on his thigh, fingers trailing over the thick seam of his jeans. It drives Billy crazy and he fists his hand tighter in Steve's sweatshirt.

Billy gently bites Steve's bottom lip, eliciting a soft half-laugh-half-moan from him. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into Steve's mouth. This time, he moans, as Steve's tongue touches his, hot and searching. It's all Billy has wanted for weeks, months, even. He tilts his head back as Steve breaks away to kiss Billy's jaw, his neck, the hollow at the base of his throat. When Steve bites down, Billy's breath catches and his eyes fly open. The sky overhead is a deep violet, now, not a cloud in sight.

He shifts, jeans feeling tighter, already, and pulls at Steve so he can kiss him on the mouth again. Steve comes willingly.

They kiss for another two songs—though Billy doesn't even hear them—and when they pull away Steve is smiling in a way Billy hasn't seen before. His gaze slides out across the horizon; Billy's gaze stays firm on Steve. The kiss has knocked something loose inside of him, something he didn't know was wound too tight. He sighs. Steve purses his kiss-swollen lips and then he picks up another beer. He twists the top off and takes a long pull, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Billy follows suit, mouth dry and cheeks hot. 

He knocks back half of his beer in one go, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Steve sets down his beer, places his hand on top of Billy's. Heart racing, Billy turns his hand, so their palms are touching. He doesn't look at Steve, but he's certain he is still smiling. He curls his fingers so that they're laced with Steve's and leans back against the windshield. They sit there, holding hands and drinking beer, until night falls, completely, stars bright in the inky sky.

'I have to go.' Billy slides off the car, abruptly, stumbling on slightly shaky legs. Steve blinks up at him and Billy's heart thunders. Panic and joy war inside him and he's not sure which one will win out if he stays.

Steve blinks, again, but then he smiles, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and says, 'OK, sure.'

'Thank-you.' Billy silently curses his clumsy tongue, tripped up by beer and Steve's mouth. Smooth, Hargrove, he thinks. Real smooth. He slips his hands in his back pockets. 'I mean...I'll see you around. Sometime.' He winces. Not much better.

Steve's brows raise and his lips quirk. 'Or tomorrow? At school?'

Billy's face heats. 'Right, yeah. Tomorrow. At school.' He doesn't know what it is about Steve that does this to him. Some days he hates it but right now it almost feels good.

Steve smiles wider, laughing, and Billy smiles back, panic subsumed by joy for the time being. He turns on his heel and shakes his head as he walks to his Camaro with a spring in his step and a smile still on his face.

__

Billy's hands are fisted in Steve's sheets, fingers starting to slacken as his heart rate slows. His face is turned, half pressed into the pillow, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He takes a deep breath—the thick scent of sex hitting him—as he comes down from the best fucking orgasm of his life.

One of Steve's hands rests over his own, the other boy a warm grounding weight on him. He relishes the feeling before Steve rolls off of him and flops back on the bed, running a shaking hand down Billy's side. 

'You OK?' Steve asks, breathless. He swallows, audibly, hand still resting just above the swell of Billy's ass.

'Just fine, sweetheart,' Billy says, finally rolling over to face Steve.

He's sweaty, chest heaving, sheets twisted around his hips and the way he looks at Billy steals his breath away. Billy has to close his eyes, bury his face in the pillow. He wonders if he can smother the feelings rising up if he presses into it hard enough.

When he opens his eyes, again, Steve is looking up at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair. Billy breathes out through his nose.

It's still hard to believe that someone like Steve Harrington could want to be with him. Billy keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment something will snap—probably Billy, himself—and Steve will drop _him_. He clenches his hand under the pillow, digs his nails into his palm. He doesn't want to think about this, not now. Fear colours too much of what he has with Steve—fear they'll get caught, fear Steve will leave him, fear he'll drag Steve too far into the shitty mess of his life—but he doesn't want it to touch this.

Steve cleans himself off with his discarded shirt, then hands it to Billy so he can do the same. It's oddly satisfying to clean himself off with Steve's polo shirt after they've just fucked, he thinks, as he wipes the pastel fabric over his body. He throws it back at Steve, who catches it, nose wrinkling, before he casts it aside. He rolls onto his side, facing Billy, rests his fingers over Billy's pulse. It skips at Steve's touch.

Billy bites his nails and looks past Steve, now, out the window. It's dark and he knows he should go home. The thought settles heavily in his chest, twisting in his ribs. Part of him just wants to stay here, let Steve curl up against him, wake up with him. But, even if his dad wouldn't lose it if he stayed out all night, there's something about staying that's just _too much_. He swallows.

'I, uh, I should go,' he says, nodding toward the window.

Steve looks at it, then back at Billy. His brow furrows and he bites his lip but he nods. 'Yeah.'

Billy hesitates a moment, then slides out of bed. His legs wobble and his body aches, pleasantly.

'Are you OK to get home?' Steve asks, fingers twisting in the top sheet.

Billy smirks as he zips up his fly, tucking his shirt in. He looks Steve up and down, sticks his tongue out, lewdly. 'Don't worry. I think I can still drive.'

Steve rolls his eyes. He props himself on one elbow, watching Billy. 'You're OK, though?'

Billy frowns, hopping as he slides on his boot. It's the third time Steve has asked if he's okay. 'Yeah, of course.' He stomps his foot, settling his heel in. Before Steve can say anything else, Billy leans over, knee sunk into the mattress, braced on one hand, and kisses him. It's sloppy and awkward and too brief.

Steve makes a small, unhappy noise as Billy pulls back and straightens up. He adjusts himself in his jeans, buckles his belt. 

'I'm, uh, going to go then,' he says, hip cocked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Steve nods, eyes wide. He stays silent as Billy crosses to the window and slides it open.

'Hey, Billy?'

'Yeah?'

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again. He shakes his head and looks away, like he was going to say something, but changed his mind. In the end he sighs and says, 'Drive carefully.'

'Always do, sweetheart.'

Billy winks at Steve, belying the heavy feeling in his stomach, before he slips out of the window and into the night.

__

Steve is talking but Billy can't hear him over the roar of blood in his ears. He doesn't have to hear him, though, he knows what Steve is saying. The same thing he's been saying for the past ten minutes and Billy grinds out, 'Shut it, Harrington, you don't know what you're talking about.'

Anger thrums in Billy's blood, pulses under his skin. It's a throbbing pressure in his skull and the only way to break it is to break something else. Lash out, fists swinging, until it connects with whatever or whoever is nearest. Right now, that's Steve. Billy doesn't want to hurt Steve, not again, not like he did before, but if Steve doesn't _shut up_ , he thinks he might. Underneath the rage, the fury, that thought terrifies him.

'It's Harrington, again, huh?' Steve swallows. He huffs, in frustration, and rubs a hand over his face. 'Look, why are you so upset? It's just money. You know I don't mind.'

'You don't get it.' The thing is, Billy doesn't even care that much—that Steve has more money, that he's so casual about spending it, not enough to lose it like this, anyway—but the anger had sparked and now he can't douse its flames. Part of him doesn't want to. It feels good, familiar.

'Maybe I'd get it if you actually talked to me instead of-of...' Steve trails off, gesticulating desperately, 'going crazy.'

Billy can't even look at Steve. His nostrils flare and he feels like he's choking. He wants to hit something, wants to hit Steve, but instead he just punches the wall. Steve swears. Billy's knuckles throb.

'Forget it!' Billy yells and stalks away. When Steve calls after him, he doesn't bother to turn back.

__

His feet hit the asphalt, hard, shins juddering at the impact. It vibrates through his knees, into his thighs. The ground is slick beneath his boots, and he skids a couple of times, heart leaping into his throat. His legs ache but the pain distracts him from the throbbing in his face.

The memory of his father dragging him out of bed, backhanding him so hard his vision had sparkled, hits him and he stumbles. He sucks in cold air, stinging in his lungs. He can hear his dad's voice, low and dangerous, as their noses nearly touched while he had Billy by the scruff of his neck. He was chewing Billy out about something Billy had done wrong. What was it he had done, this time? He can't remember, head pounding as hard as his feet. Billy feels like he might throw up, every inch of his body _screaming_ , but he keeps running. He has to get to Steve.

It would be quicker if his dad hadn't taken his keys, told him he'd get them back Monday morning so he can take Max to school. Billy had nodded—'Yes, sir'—tonguing the blood on his lip. His dad had shoved him, once more, and then left him in his room. Billy had slid to the floor, head in his hands, throat tight with tears he refused to let fall. All he could think was that he wanted Steve. And, so, he snuck out of his window and started running, down the wet roads and now through the creepy woods that back onto Steve's house. The scent of damp dirt, disturbed by his feet, fills his nose.

He braces his hands on his legs, panting as he stands beneath Steve's window, by the eerie, empty pool. He swallows and waits until he catches his breath before he casts about for something to throw at the glass. He finds a small rock and throws it. His hand is shaking, arm like jelly, so he misses. He finds another rock and tries again. The low tip-tap as it hits the glass and slides down is deafening in the silent backyard. 

Moments later the window flies open and Steve pokes his head out. 'What are you doing?' He hisses. He looks pissed and sleepy, hair sticking up, moonlight washing his pale skin. He's beautiful.

Billy swallows thickly. He tastes blood. 'I'm coming up,' he says and moves closer to the house, starts to climb.

'What...no...are you crazy? Go home.'

Billy pauses, looks up. Something in Steve's face shifts as he peers down at Billy, hands curled over the window ledge. 'Billy...are you OK?'

'Peachy,' says Billy, reaching out for the ledge. He grabs it, hauls himself over and into Steve's room, one leg at a time. Steve moves back as Billy stumbles into his room, standing in the shadows, arms by his sides. He is unusually silent, like maybe he doesn't know what to say. It's fine. Billy doesn't need him to say anything.

Steve moves over to him. He takes Billy's chin between his fingers, turns his face to the light. His breath catches. He drops his hand to his side, but stays close.

'Can I stay here, tonight?' Billy asks, leaning back against the window ledge. He tries to sound casual but, with his voice all thick and wrecked, he knows it comes off more like desperate.

Billy looks at Steve, then, their gazes locking. Steve's eyes look damp, glittering in the low light but there is determination in them. He runs his thumb gently over Billy's cheek where a bruise will ripen come morning. He leans in and places a soft kiss on the corner of Billy's mouth, one just below his eye, one to his forehead.

Billy still doesn't know how to act in the face of such tenderness. When he looks up, sees the pink staining Steve's cheeks, the way he clears his throat and looks away, he thinks that Steve doesn't quite know what to do with it, either. But he rests his forehead against Billy's, finally answers, 'Yeah. Yeah don't go,' and Billy lets himself fall into Steve's arms as he's pulled into a tight embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, well, that took me the better part of December to write!
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) :) (I'm multi fandom)
> 
> I'm not actually sure if climbing into Steve's window is possible? (I mean, if you had a grappling hook, then I'm certain you could.) But, uh...eh.
> 
> I know nothing about pinball except that I suck at it. I did a little research for terminology for different parts of the machine but that's about it.


End file.
